NUMBER 9 - THE LAST TIME

Frank Williams
5 days ago
2 min read

In an extract from his book One foot in the Grove (reproduced by permission), author Dom Horton describes the previous No 9 derby.

….“Unprecedented queues to get in at the Grove, backing up way down Old Hawne Lane, despite us arriving in good time before kick-off.

The long queues to get in was problematic, because the symptoms of my neurological condition were quite severe. So standing in the queue was quite challenging. And in all honesty, my illness was part of the reason I stayed sober before the game.

By the time we arrived at the turnstiles, we could hear the referee’s whistle signalling the start of the game. Not too bad we thought – within seconds we would be on the East Terrace. But then there was a sound we did not want to hear – a sudden cheer. But a cheer not loud enough to signal that Yeltz had scored, meaning that Stourbridge had. Less than a minute gone, and we were 1-0 down. It transpired a long ball over the top was not dealt with by the defence or ‘keeper Platty, and striker Ethan Freemantle nipped in to slot home.

Once we forced our way through the full house crowd to somewhere near our normal spot on the East Terrace, a couple of things were evident. Firstly, it was an absolutely resplendent scene for the oldest continuously played derby in the West Midlands. Not only were the fans crammed into the Grove from both towns in good spirits but the famous old ground was bathed in radiant sunshine. Secondly even though there were only a few minutes on the clock, the pitch was starting to cut up badly. This would make it hard for us to push the ball around, favouring Stourbridge.

The first half went how you would expect a local derby to go on a cut up pitch. It was scrappy. Stourbridge dug trenches and defended their lead well. We were limited to few chances, the most notable of which fell to KD, 6 yards out. But at the critical moment he slipped and the opportunity was lost.

Largely, the second half was more of the same. Our bitter rivals seemed content to hold on their lead and not venture forward a great deal…. I was beginning to develop a sense of great dread that we were not going to score, and it was not going to be our day.

… But on 79 minutes, a Yeltz corner flicked on by Wollacott, the ball landed to Wragg. He wriggled a yard of space and fired a shot through legs that found its way into the back of the net.

The sickness in my stomach made way for pure, unmitigated joy. I found myself jumping up and down on my least bad leg screaming “Get in, get f*cking in!” about a dozen times on a loop. …“